


Pride

by cardinalrachelieu



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied Smut, Seven Minutes In Heaven, Spin the Bottle, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:47:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1909767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinalrachelieu/pseuds/cardinalrachelieu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from <a href="http://bellarkewritersnetwork.tumblr.com">BellarkeWritersNetwork</a> on tumblr: SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN. (Credit: avarosierthewicked)</p>
<p>It was too good to pass up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride

Most of everyone’s time was spent on the dropship now; it was cramped and boring, but at least it protected them from the chill outside.

As it was, entertainment options had dropped to an all time low, which is how Clarke presently found herself sitting cross-legged in a circle with a dozen other delinquents… and Bellamy Blake.

She was only doing it on a dare, really. It was all _his_ fault.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy sauntered up to her with his normal self-assured gait, stopping at her side and turning so that they could both survey the inside of the ship. Her mouth hung open at the ridiculous scene playing out in front of her, and Bellamy bumped her shoulder to try to coax her out of the trance.

“What’s the matter, princess? Never played _Spin the Bottle_ before?” His hands were casually resting on his hips and there was an easy tilt to his head as he angled it toward her.

“No!” The response was too quick for even her own ears. She had to be the most unaccomplished liar in all of history.

“Oh my god, you haven’t.” His hands dropped as he turned to squarely face her, a playful glint shining behind his eyes.

“I have definitely played—um…” _What was the name of that game again?_ “Look, I have plenty of—“

“Why don’t you go join a game?” he interrupted, head nodding in the direction of a loudly whooping Jasper.

“I’m… uhh… busy.” For only saying two real words, it took her an impressive amount of time to settle on them, stretching the explanation out over several seconds.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, chin tilting back in mock amusement. “Oh yeah? With what?”

Her eyes raked the room for some plausible excuse. “With, uhh, checking stocks of, uhh, herbs.” She busied her fingers with the hem of her shirt, rolling the fabric methodically between them.

_What was the appeal of this game, anyway? Was the entire point of it just to make people uncomfortable?_

“Herbs, huh?” He tucked his chin back to his chest, looking at her through his brows.

“Yep.” She angled her neck in a show of what she wanted to be confidence. Clarke imagined it came across more as insecurity.

“You mean the piles of freshly collected herbs sitting right there?” His expression was that of a parent who’d just caught their child with their hand in the cookie jar.

His hands had moved back to his hips, and he dipped a shoulder so that he could lean in toward her ear. “Look, if you’re scared, you don’t have—“

“I’m not scared.” Clarke snapped her head to the side, recoiling away from Bellamy’s voice.

He rocked back easily, not at all put off by her outburst. “Alright, so then come play.” It was supposed to be an invitation but it felt more like a dare. “Since we’ve established that you have some free time,” he finished a moment later, eyes narrowing playfully.

“ _You_ go play.” _Brilliant, Clarke. That’ll definitely get him to leave you alone._

“Okay.” He bobbed his head, and for a second she thought she was in the clear; but then a crease formed in between his brows, indicating that he wasn’t done speaking. “But you’re coming with me.”

She met his challenging gaze with one of her own, storming off toward the group with Jasper and Monty sitting in it. Bellamy followed close at her heels, and she swore she heard him snickering under his breath.

 

* * *

 

She sits staring daggers at him from across the circle while he keeps a smug grin plastered to his face. He’d been wearing it ever since he’d cornered her into participating.

_The bastard._

She takes another swig from her cup of moonshine—thank _god_ Monty had kept making moonshine through the winter.

So far it wasn’t all that bad. Harper had spun the bottle and it had stopped on her. They met in the middle of the circle, kissed – briefly – and returned to their previous seats.

She still doesn’t understand the appeal of all this (though she’s beginning to).

“What say we make things a bit more interesting?” Everyone save Clarke and Bellamy erupts in cheers.

Jasper continues, “If the bottle lands on you, you and your partner have to go up to the second level. For seven minutes, the hatch stays locked.” Her expression must have shifted into one of abject horror because Bellamy is stifling a snort when he catches her gaze.

“Alright, who’s first?”

Clarke grabs for her cup again, knocking back a shot in the hopes that it will give her the necessary confidence to stay put. She can’t back out now; he would never let her live it down. And, though she’d never admit it, she was actually having some fun.

It was good to see everyone happy.

Bellamy reaches into the center of the circle, fingers closing around the bottle. “I am.”

Clarke feels the moonshine catch in her throat and she has to cough to get her lungs working again.

_Whatever._ She’ll sit through three rounds of this and then make up some excuse to leave. The probability that she’ll get picked even once – let alone all three times – is under ten percent. Those are good odds.

She’s running the numbers for the compound probabilities when the bottle stops spinning, and she doesn’t realize it’s landed on her until Monty claps her on the back.

She flashes a startled look at Bellamy just in time to see him reworking his own features. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he looked scared.

_He’s probably just disappointed it’s me._ The thought makes her stomach drop.

She untangles her legs all the same, sneaking one final sip from her glass of alcohol before heading toward the ladder.

“After you, princess,” he offers.

Her brows fall flat and her lips purse into a thin line, but she starts her climb. Over zealous _whoops_ follow her ears as she ascends the rungs, making her cheeks go hot.

Bellamy must have given them a warning stare because all of the sudden everyone goes quiet. She’s thankful.

The hatch locks behind them with a resounding thud and Clarke turns to face her new cellmate.

Bellamy shoves his hands into his pockets, knuckles working against the denim nervously. “Alright, so what do you wanna talk about for the next seven minutes?” He doesn’t bring his eyes up to meet hers and instead shifts his weight around between both feet.

It takes her a second to understand, but once she does, a lopsided smile spreads across her features. “Ohhh no,” she laughs. “You’re the one that dragged me into this. You don’t get to chicken out now.”

The half cup of alcohol is making her bold. _Good. He deserves a taste of his own medicine._

“I’m not chickening out.” The unusually high pitch of his voice indicates otherwise.

“You so are.” Now it’s her turn to cross her arms over her chest. A knowing grin takes up residence on her features, and she can’t help but feel like this is a small victory.

He scoffs, and she imagines that she must’ve looked something similar to this half an hour ago when she was trying to avoid playing this stupid game. “No, I’m—“

“Then prove it.” _What are you doing!?_

“I don’t have to prove anything to you,” he states flatly after a minute of working his jaw open and shut in failed attempts to say something.

“B’gock.” She’s not sure what possessed her to do it, but there’s no taking it back once it’s out. She does her best to keep the cool smirk painted on her face.

“Careful, princess,” he warns.

She goes right on clucking, the knowledge that it’s getting under his skin fueling her taunts. But then his arm snakes around her waist and crushes them together and it’s all she can do not to whimper at the feel of him pressed against her.

“You can still back down, you know.” He’s offering her an out, and for some reason she gets the feeling that, if she took it, he wouldn’t tease her about it.

“Not a chance.” She’s proud of herself when her voice comes out steady, though she’s pretty sure her thudding heartbeat is pronounced enough to cause a small earthquake.

His grip on her frame tightens, one hand dropping to her hip to give a testing squeeze. She doesn’t pull away.

His voice rumbles against her when he speaks again. “We need more than seven minutes.”

“Not if you know what you’re doing,” she counters, and she can feel herself flush as his thumb moves over the small of her back.

“It’s _because_ I know what I’m doing that this’ll take more that seven minutes.” There’s no lie in his eyes, which, she now notices, are blown wide with desire.

She arches a brow, unwaveringly meeting his gaze. “So bolt the hatch.”

Bellamy has her legs wrapped around his waist and her back pressing into a bulkhead before she even has a chance to complete her next breath. He catches her lips in an unapologetic kiss, and she can almost feel the bruise forming from the utter force of it.

Her fingers thread through his hair, tangling in the strands on the back of his head with a rough tug. He growls against her at that, drawing her bottom lip between his teeth in retaliation.

His hands feel hot against her skin when they work their way under the hem of her shirt. It’s not long before he’s peeling the fabric over her head, throwing it somewhere behind them where it lands soundlessly.

Bellamy wrenches his lips from hers, and a moan of protest soon turns to one of pleasure as they find their place again on the hollow part of her throat. She fumbles for the bottom of his shirt, yanking upward when her fingers finally manage to secure themselves around it.

She remembers thinking his hands were hot but his chest feels like the inside of a furnace, only instead of burning her it makes her want to pull him closer.

The sound of the hatch unlocking sends a sharp shock through her limbs, and Bellamy’s dropped her to the ground before she even has a chance to react.

“Alright, lovebirds! Time’s up— _hey!_ ” Jasper’s head is stuffed back through the opening as Bellamy slams the door closed again, threading a metal pipe through the ladder next to it, effectively locking it from the inside.

“As I was saying,” he muses as he stalks back toward her, hair a perfect picture of dishevelment, “more than seven minutes.” He brings a hand up under each thigh, coaxing her legs back to their rightful position around his hips.

“Are you gonna gloat about being right? Because I’d really rather—“

He cuts her off with a searing kiss, one that she can feel all the way down to her toes.

“ _Finally!_ ” she hears someone yell up from the first level. She pretends to ignore it, instead focusing on the way Bellamy’s hips are rocking against hers in a way that makes her realize she’s not going to last very long.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the fade to black, but I wanted to keep it light. Forgive me, darlings.
> 
> Reviews give me life, so don't be shy :)


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